


Wait For It

by Avacyn



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 20:14:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17794025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avacyn/pseuds/Avacyn
Summary: For the 2019 Valentine's exchange!!!!Prompt: bi-curious





	Wait For It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pinkys_creature_feature](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkys_creature_feature/gifts).



> To the lovely Pinky!!!! Please enjoy!!!!!! ❤

There's a hunger coiled in the pit of Arthur's stomach, brooding, waiting. 

 

Eames has been looking at him recently; heavy looks that seem to last a lifetime, and Arthur can't even call him out on it, because he's only looking. 

 

Arthur doesn't even think he wants Eames to stop. 

 

He feels he's on a precipice, about to jump, about to give up and let himself fall. He can't walk away now, can't turn back. The only question anymore is not if, but when. 

 

“Have a drink with me,” Eames says one night. They're working an extraction together in New York. 

 

“No,” Arthur replies. “I'm working.”

 

Arthur's never been with a guy. Recently, though, he's been getting himself off at night to heady thoughts of broad hands running over his body, strong arms pinning him down, those sea-grey eyes. 

 

“You're wound up too tight,” Eames murmurs. “Let me loosen you up a bit.”

 

Arthur swivels his chair, smiles. For all Eames knows Arthur's fucked and been fucked by every guy in the country. He's willing to give it up; just not willing to give up the secret. 

 

“I don't fuck on the job,” he says, casually.  _ I don't fuck men at all. _

 

_ But I'm going to make an exception for you _ . 

 

He wants it to be Eames, he thinks. Beyond the snark, the antagonism, there's something there, a tension, a hot heavy current thudding through his veins. Eames' gaze lingers on him often these days.

 

It's only a matter of time. 

 

~ ~ ~ 

 

Eames is so disgustingly competent, Arthur thinks with frustration, supervising the second forge one day when they're under. Did a tremendous job, as usual, of nicking all their intel - he's an even better hacker than Arthur - and stuck around for a couple little forges. He drives Arthur crazy. 

 

It's getting harder to say no, to just shut things off and focus on the work. One night, late, Eames comes up behind him where he's pinning things to the whiteboard. Crowds up close; Arthur can feel Eames' breath on the back of his neck. It's hard not to lean back into that wall of muscle. 

 

Then he puts a hand on Arthur's hip. The shock of the contact jolts through Arthur like electricity. 

 

“You're a tease, Arthur,” Eames says softly in his ear, and Arthur has to fight to suppress a full-body shiver. 

 

“Be patient,” Arthur says, to himself as much as Eames. “I'm worth the wait.”

 

“You're a fucking cock tease in that suit,” Eames says, mildly, breath hot on Arthur's skin. He grips Arthur's hip. Arthur didn't realise how big his hand would feel. 

 

“Wait for it,” Arthur whispers, “Mr Eames.”

 

Eames flexes his fingers and then slides his hand away, backs off. 

 

Arthur, despite being a vet, despite all the shit he's been through, feels suddenly unsteady. He wants to spin round and climb Eames like a fucking tree. But instead he waits. 

 

~ ~ ~ 

 

Three weeks in, and he can barely focus on the work. Usually he can get into the zone, work for hours, but across the room Eames is idly sucking a whiteboard marker, basically deep-throating the thing, hollow-cheeked, mouth obscene. The worst thing is he's not doing it on purpose. 

 

Arthur swears under his breath. “I'm going for lunch,” he says, leaving. Eames looks up at him, mouth still full, eyes enquiring. “I'll bring you back a baguette,” Arthur says, avoiding his gaze. 

 

Eames pulls the marker out of his mouth with a pop. “Ta, pet.”

 

Arthur drives back to his hotel downtown and jerks off furiously in the shower, thinking of thieves' hands, of blunt thick fingers opening him up. He feels better for it, orgasm finally crashing over him, and works late into the night that night. 

 

~ ~ ~

 

It's getting harder not to find every excuse to touch Eames, not to give as good as he's getting. His fingers linger now when he's hooking Eames up to the PASIV. 

 

Eames touches him, occasionally; a hand on his shoulder, a friendly slap on the back, a broad palm covering his knee, casual, as they sit side by side - only ever fleeting. 

 

He notices Arthur rubbing at the painful, tense muscles of his neck and shoulders one day. “Let me,” he says, wandering over to Arthur's desk. 

 

Arthur gives him a look. 

 

Eames puts his hands up. “My intentions are pure, Arthur. Just… let me.”

 

Arthur acquiesces. 

 

Eames puts two broad hands on his shoulders, squeezing. “Fuck, darling, far too tight,” he says, and then digs his thumbs in. Arthur moans. 

“God,” Eames murmurs, “responsive little thing, aren't you -”

Arthur scowls, and then groans again. Eames' hands are  _ incredible. _

Christ, and these are just his hands. 

“Are you this tight everywhere, pet,” he says, rubbing, hands hot and heavy through Arthur's shirt. 

“Nnngh,” says Arthur. “Oh, my god.”

“I'll loosen you up, darling,” Eames murmurs. 

 

~ ~ ~

 

The night they finally finish the job - a simple enough extraction - they go to a bar close by. Want courses through Arthur's veins.  _ Finally _ . 

 

He tries not to put the whisky away too fast, tries not to get too nervous; thanks his lucky stars he's always had a good poker face, been a fluent, charming, convincing liar. 

 

Eames puts a hand on his leg. “Not here,” Arthur murmurs. “Mine.”

 

They pour themselves into a taxi.

 

One moment Arthur's closing the door to his room and then the next moment, somehow, they're kissing. 

 

He doesn't know what he expected, but it's a shock nonetheless. So powerfully and intoxicatingly  _ new _ . Eames' lips are full and lovely, the stubble of his beard abrasive. His hands slide over Arthur's hips, full of strength and promise. He slides his tongue deep into Arthur's mouth, hot and claiming, and Arthur moans, helpless. 

 

“Fuck,” Eames swears, pulling back, leaning in again to kiss and bite at Arthur's neck. “Knew you'd be gorgeous, God you're such a fucking tease in those trousers, darling, I want to tear them off you -”

 

“Shut up and kiss me,” Arthur breathes, and Eames does. 

 

They stagger to the bed, not breaking apart, Eames' casino-robbing fingers deftly unbuttoning Arthur's shirt. Arthur strips himself out of it, lets Eames pause to get his off, and then they're together again, hot skin on skin, kissing messily and greedily, a month of tension finally over. 

 

Eames is huge, Arthur can already tell just from the way they're pressed up together. He wants it. He's ready. 

 

He won't tell Eames it's his first time. Doesn't need to; doesn't want a tender deflowering, just wants it rough and hard and uninhibited. He doesn't want Eames to be gentle - anything but. He wants to be fucking  _ claimed _ .

 

Eames sucks a bruise into his neck, and Arthur tries not to whimper, so touch-starved and so turned on. 

 

They get their pants off, and Eames is really fucking big. Bigger than any of Arthur's sex toys, and Arthur hasn't been going for the small ones. No wonder he wears those fucking awful trousers. He looks incredible erect, head just visible over his foreskin, and the sheer contrapposto of his body as he leans over to look for a condom is beautiful. Arthur has a box there, just in case, and lube. 

 

He lies back, breathing heavily, and Eames rubs at him gently, fingers slicked with lube, nails bitten short. He pushes one finger in, careful, and Arthur groans, more than ready for it. 

 

“Fuck, Arthur,” Eames murmurs, “knew you'd be tight. Fuck.” He slowly adds another finger, gently thrusting and curving. With his other hand he jacks Arthur's cock, and between the two sensations, Eames' hands rough and warm and certain, he feels like he's coming undone. “Oh, fuck, Eames,” he moans, trying not to jerk in pleasure, “oh, Christ -” He's never been fingered before, not by someone else,  but something tells him that Eames is naturally good. Eames rubs at his hole with three strong fingers, then thrusts deep. Arthur moans again, feeling so beautifully full just from this, and Eames kisses him quiet, and moves press his cock up against Arthur's. The contact jolts through him, and he moans, and rubs his wet hard cock against Eames’. 

 

“God,” Eames murmurs, above him, “you're a little slut, aren't you -” He takes them both in hand, wet with lube from fingering Arthur, and strokes them both. 

 

“Get inside me,” Arthur breathes, “fuck me.”

 

Eames lines up and pushes in in one rough thrust, and Arthur almost chokes on a strangled scream of pleasure, gasping and bearing down, adjusting. “Okay?” Eames asks, reaching up to brush Arthur's hair out of his eyes. 

“Yeah,” Arthur pants, “definitely, you're just - you're not exactly small -”

Eames laughs. “I'll go slow,” he says gently. “God, you're so tight, I knew you would be -” He pulls back, and then thrusts again slowly. “Oh, Arthur.”

 

Slowly, he picks up the pace, and Arthur clings to his biceps, eyes screwed shut, gasping. He could swear his heart's all the way up on his throat. He'd had no idea it would be this good, that he'd feel this full, in such a good way. His cock is hard and leaking into his stomach, but he's helpless; can't reach for it, can only hold on and let Eames ruin him. 

 

They make love for what feels like hours; Eames thrusts deep into him; it's so intense and new and erotic that Arthur feels he could explode, all his nerves on fire. He didn't know he could feel this good. He's never been so absolutely fucked. It's strange, yeah, but it's also fucking incredible; better than the toys by a mile - Eames is blood-hot inside him - and fuck, just the thought -  _ Eames is inside me  _ \- Arthur lets his head fall back and groans. Eames fucks him hard, deep slick strokes that seem to fill him up all the way to his throat. He feels feverish, cheeks hot, dazed with lust. 

 

“Knew you'd be perfect,” Eames murmurs, “god, you're good, aren't you, darling, you slut,” and fucks him harder, one hand gripping Arthur's hair, pulling his head back so Eames can bite at his throat, the other hand tight on Arthur's waist. “Shit,” Arthur groans, “fuck, Christ, Eames -”

 

“Fuck, I'm close, darling,” Eames breathes. “You're so fucking good -”

 

“Come in me,” Arthur pants, “it's fine, there's protection -”

 

“ _ Fuck _ , darling, fuck,  _ Arthur _ -” Eames shudders, and bites down on his shoulder, a gravelly moan tearing itself from his throat as he comes. 

 

“Oh God,” Arthur moans, stroking himself. “Oh, fuck -” 

 

“Come on my face,” Eames breathes, propping himself up. 

“Oh fuck,” Arthur moans, “oh fuck yeah.”

 

Eames rolls off him, and Arthur gets up and straddles his chest, still stroking himself. 

 

“Ohhhhh, fuck,” Eames groans softly as Arthur comes across his lips, cock throbbing.  

 

“Fuck.” 

 

Arthur goes to grab a towel, to clean them both up. 

 

“Ta, darling,” Eames says, wiping his face.

 

“Worth the wait?”

 

“Fuck yes. God. Knew you'd be worth it.” Eames clears his throat. “I could do with a drink.”

 

“Same,” Arthur says, and goes to check the minibar. 

 

They sit up in bed together, drinking.

 

“What's that smile for,” Eames asks, lazily tracing a pattern on Arthur's thighs. 

 

Arthur smirks, and knocks back a miniature Absolut. “I know something you don't know.”

 

“Probably not a first,” Eames says drily. “Go on. Spill.”

 

Arthur looks at him, considering. He's trusted Eames this far; in fact, he trusts Eames with his life. “I've never done that before.”

 

“Come on someone's face? You've been missing out, pet.”

 

“No,” Arthur says, unscrewing a tiny bourbon. “Been with a guy.”

 

Eames spits Malibu all over the bed. 

 

Arthur chuckles. 

 

“You're joking,” Eames says, looking at him with bewilderment. 

 

“Nope,” Arthur replies, holding his gaze. 

 

Eames, for once in his life, is speechless. 

 

Arthur continues drinking. 

 

“Okay,” Eames says, sounding slightly strangled. He clears his throat again. “I'm going to finish this, and then I need to fuck you again.” 

 

~ ~ ~ 

 

Around 4am, when they have a break, Arthur rings down to reception to extend his stay for a few more days. He's got a lot to catch up on. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
